Memories
by ScaredandConfused
Summary: Oneshot. Kieron's memories are haunting him in his sleep, but will he be able to tell John Paul about his past? JPK.


A/N Slight warning for mentions of violence. Obviously, I don't own Hollyoaks.

**Memories**

"No!"

John Paul was awake within seconds. Kieron was shouting in his sleep again. Shaking, fighting, battling with his demons. John Paul sat up, watching him. He knew there was nothing he could do, and it tore his heart apart, as he witnessed his fiancé's suffering.

The dreams had started three nights ago, the night after Kieron had started working in the SUBAR. The night after Kieron had tried to help Ste. Each morning, Kieron had said he didn't remember the dreams, but John Paul knew he was lying, knew he was hiding something from him. If he had to guess, he'd say they weren't dreams, but memories. Memories long hidden, always suppressed, never forgotten; memories Kieron didn't want to relive, but his mind wasn't giving him any choice.

Kieron had shared little of his past with John Paul. He knew his parents were still alive, and still together, but they had little contact now. He knew Kieron had grown up in the South of England, but he had family in Ireland and in Scotland. He knew facts about Kieron's past, but few memories or emotions. He didn't know when, or how Kieron had come out, or how many ex-boyfriends he'd had before choosing the join the priesthood. He didn't know what Kieron's family felt about him being gay: were they accepting or had they cast him out? There was a lot Kieron kept hidden from John Paul, and John Paul didn't know why. At some point, surely, they would have to talk about it?

But now, Kieron was finally lying peacefully again. John Paul settled himself, arms around the older man, and tried to regain the comfort of sleep.

* * *

When Kieron woke the next morning, he was scared. Terrified. If the nightmares that had been haunting him for the past three nights had been merely dreams, he might have been able to cope with them. But they weren't dreams, they were memories. Once, they had been real. Even John Paul's warm body resting next to him was hardly enough to comfort him from his past; his past he had kept hidden from everyone. How much longer could he bury the pain? Another night, another week like this?

He slid himself out of bed, trying desperately not to relive those dreams, those memories that sleep was subjecting him to. He knew why it had all come back – Ste. Witnessing that young man falling down the path he had had to fight so hard to avoid. They stories had been so similar, even though Ste would never now it.

Kieron shook his head. He wasn't going to let himself go there, not now. He had so much good in his life now, in this new place. Yes, so much had changed, but life was so much better now than he ever could have dreamed it would become. He wasn't that angry young man anymore. He'd avoided that path.

And yet?

And yet he couldn't help but be tormented by his past. By that pain, by his fears, by those memories. He decided to have a shower, hoping to use the scalding water to numb the pain. The external pain masking the internal, just like it had so many times before.

* * *

When John Paul awoke that morning, Kieron wasn't next to him. It wasn't an unusual occurrence, John Paul was still on his student schedule of lie-ins, and Kieron had always been an early riser. He glanced at the alarm clock – 9:26am – and decided he should probably get up. He padded out of his room, past the bathroom and the sounds of the shower, towards the kitchen and their kettle. He was trying to work out why he felt so tired, when the memory of the previous night caught up with him. As he heaped instant coffee into his mug, waiting for the kettle to boil, he wondered if he should confront Kieron, again, about his dreams.

His previous confrontations had lead to denial. Kieron claimed he couldn't recall the dreams, and however much John Paul knew he was lying, he couldn't bring himself to press Kieron harder. The dreams were obviously a source of distress; John Paul didn't want Kieron to re-live it. But wouldn't it be better for Kieron if he talked about it? _A problem shared is a problem halved_, as his mother used to say.

* * *

Kieron was standing just inside the bathroom door. He could hear the kettle boiling in the kitchen, but he wasn't sure he wanted to face anyone at that moment. He glanced in the mirror – he was bright red from head to toe, and his eyes were puffy. His vain attempt at blocking out those memories had failed, and his reaction to those haunting images was the same as it always was: tears. He splashed some cold water on his face, trying desperately to make his face look ever so slightly more normal. He had kept those memories suppressed for so long, but now every time was reliving itself in his mind: every word, every blow, every punch.

The tears were welling up in his eyes again, and he decided to make a dash for his room, hoping John Paul was the one in the kitchen, so he could prolong facing him for a little while longer.

* * *

John Paul heard the bathroom door opening, and turned around to see his bedroom door shut.

"Kieron?"

He decided that he had to confront his fiancé. It was one of those now or never moments, and he knew Kieron needed him, however well he was hiding that fact. He placed a teabag into another mug, following it with some of the just boiled water, and a little milk, and took it, and his coffee, into their bedroom.

When he opened the door, Kieron was pulling on a t-shirt, his back to John Paul.

"John Paul, could you give me a minute please?"

John Paul knew, instantly that Kieron had been crying. His voice was choked with tears, and John Paul knew he wasn't going anywhere.

"No."

The forcefulness in John Paul's voice stunned both men. He put his coffee down on the side table, and placed a hand on Kieron's shoulder, handing him the tea with the other.

Kieron smiled, a half smile, thanks for the tea, but John Paul was disturbed by the torment he saw on the older man's face. His eyes were swollen; he'd obviously been crying hard. He led Kieron over to the bed, and pulled him down onto it, Kieron himself hardly able to move.

John Paul waited, waited for Kieron to speak first. He knew the silence was painful, but he had to let Kieron open up when he was ready. He sipped on his coffee, whilst Kieron drained his tea.

"I'm sorry I've been hiding myself from you."

_Hiding what?_ John Paul wandered. That statement made hardly any sense. "You have absolutely nothing to apologise for," he replied.

Kieron shook his head. "I shouldn't have kept it from you."

_Kept what_? John Paul remained silent, keeping his confused thoughts to himself.

"I just…" Kieron faltered. "It was all in the past. That's where I wanted it to stay. But now…" his voice trailed off again. This was impossibly hard. John Paul had caught him off guard, with his insistence on staying, his quiet gesture of support, his calming cup of tea. And he knew this was the right this to do, he wanted to open up, he **needed** to open up. But it was hard, so, so hard. And how did he put it into words? All those years of pain and anguish and torment. How did he put them into words? "I… My father, used to… He was a drunk… He never meant it… I, I was asking for it…" those old insecurities were creeping back. If he was honest, they had been creeping back before the memories. He didn't deserve to have John Paul sitting beside him, his arm around his shoulder, quietly supporting him, keeping him steady. Loving him. No, he didn't deserve John Paul. Wasn't that what _he_ had always said? He didn't deserve anyone. He didn't deserve love.

He did. That small, quiet, resilient part of him, perhaps the only part that had kept him sane, kicked in. He did deserve John Paul. _He_ had been wrong. _He_ had been the one who didn't deserve the love his family had shown him. And he could prove _him_ wrong, with just one moment of strength.

But he had never told **anyone** before. Not one soul had been entrusted with the darkest secrets of Kieron's past. With the stories of years of pain, years of fear. It might have been 10 years ago, but it didn't dampen those emotions down. He couldn't do this.

He could. He could, and he would. He was going to prove him wrong. He was going to say it, now, before he changed his mind, again.

"He used to hit me."

Relief. That was the first emotion that hit him, once those words were finally out. Relief and disbelief. He had finally said them. Finally, after ten years. And then he met John Paul's eyes, and saw the confusion in them. He might have said those five little words, but they didn't mean anything to John Paul.

They did mean something to John Paul. His intuition had reached that point before Kieron had even said those five little words, realised that Kieron was hiding years of physical and mental abuse, but he couldn't quite believe it. Kieron had hidden it so well that he hadn't expected it, at all. He couldn't find any words. What did you say in response to something like that? _I'm sorry_?! The old psycho babble stalwart of _how do you feel about that_?

"My father… used to… hit me." Kieron's repetition of his statement, words he felt he owed John Paul as clarification, were much harder to say, and not only because he was now crying. John Paul elected not to say anything, and instead pulled Kieron in for a hug, holding his sobbing lover, as he cried the tears of pain and anguish and torment that he had never shared with another soul. But now, with this man he loved, Kieron finally felt like he could share those secrets, that dark past he had kept locked away for so long, and he knew he was the luckiest man alive. He had found love.


End file.
